Who cooks at your joint?

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Oh, I know what you are all going to say.

“At least he cooks dinner! What are you complaining about you ungrateful cow?”

But things are not as simple as it seems, so let us revisit a post I wrote back in May of 2011.

  • Mr Woog announces that he is going to cook dinner that night.
  • He takes a selection of cookbooks into the bathroom and peruses options for about an hour.
  • He chooses the dish he is going to cook and shows it to me. I roll eyes and say “Great.”
  • Mr Woog then makes an assessment of the pantry and fridge and discovers we have only 3 ingredients that he needs, those being salt, pepper and olive oil. Thus begins the shopping list.
  • A trip to the shops sees Mr Woog selecting a $30 Barossa Valley Chicken which the butcher cuts up into 8 bits. He selects the 43 other ingredients needed to complete his dish.
  • After lunch he starts to realise that grating 1kg of carrots may take some time. I take this opportunity for a nanna nap. Mr Woog takes to the grater.
  • I rise from my nap to find Mr Woog has gone out on his motorbike, clearly having lost a little interest in his quest.
  • I put some shoes on the kids, grab a bottle of wine from the fridge and head over to Mrs Finlayson’s house around the corner for some much needed catch up gossip. On the table is a note for Mr Woog simply stating “Call me when dinner is on the table”.
  • 6pm and the kids are getting hungry so we arrive home to find Mr Woog up to his nuts in cooked basmati rice.
  • Every dish is out on the bench, including items I did not know we had.
  • Mr Woog is a bit huffy and suggested I might like to help him. When I put a slow heat on under a pot, he suggests I do not know what I am doing. I suggest he go and jam it up his clacker and go and watch the news.
  • 7pm, make kids toasted sandwiches.
  • House smells like oil and tumeric
  • Mr Woog announces dinner is served.
  • Eat with Mr Woog. The conversation is completely one sided with Mr Woog saying “How good is this?” I point out that it ought to be good as the whole thing cost about as much as my weekly grocery bill.
  • Mr Woog has a second helping, commenting on the fact that he was glad he used the organic ginger. I drop tumeric coloured chook on my white top.
  • Next morning, house smells like tumeric and Mr Woog rolls over in bed and says “Seriously, how good was dinner last night?”

Who cooks at your joint?